Chapter 3 Who Gave Permission

Scarlett’s POV (Now)

Somebody had fastened a brooch at the throat of the first gown. Blackridge's mark covered Redcliff's.

Three gowns lay side by side on the long table, each with shoes, a shawl and hairpins set beside it. I left the brooch where it was. Near the third gown was a slip of paper assigning me the third seat on Edward's side of the table, near the east window. My breakfast tray had been pushed into a corner to make room for the clothes.

The housekeeper came in with her hands folded and explained where I'd sit at dinner. The inner benches were for family. Until the marriage, I would be a guest at their table.

"Who chose the third seat?"

"His Highness."

"Did he think to ask me?"

"His Highness gave the instruction himself, my lady."

She waited. I looked at the clothes again, wondering how much more she was going to tell me had already been settled. I wanted to send everything back, but I still needed something to wear tonight. I lifted the second and third gowns onto a chair, then took the pins out of the hairpieces and set them beside the remaining dress.

"I'll wear this one, without the hairpieces." I turned the seating paper face down. "And tell him I'd like to be asked."

She said she would let His Highness know. I told her to, then stood listening as she walked away. Her footsteps didn't hurry. I wished she'd argued with me instead of leaving me to wonder what she would say to him.

Once she was gone, I noticed my hands were shaking. I took a piece of bread from the tray and ate it by the window. Men were leading horses across the yard, and somewhere below I heard the clang of metal.

At home, someone had laid out my coat before I woke, too. Usually Naomi, who knew which one I'd complain about. I could ask her where the other one was without wondering whether she'd report it to a prince. I picked at the crust and finished the bread while I waited for her.

She came through from the next room carrying a bundle from the bottom of the clothes cupboard. She'd brought it all the way from Redcliff.

"I packed this one myself," she said. "Don't start."

She shook out a man's wool sweater, faded grey from washing, with worn, pilled cuffs. I recognized it before she'd straightened the sleeves. Father wore it every winter. It was far too wide for me, though that had never stopped me borrowing it. When he grew hot by the fire, he hung it over his chair. When the fire burned low, he put it on again.

I tried to remember the last time I'd seen him wearing it, but couldn't.

"I told him it looked like mud."

"Every year," Naomi said. "And you still stole it off his chair."

"He said mud was warm."

Naomi straightened her shoulders and lowered her voice to imitate him. "You go out like that—"

"—and the neighboring pack will think we've taken to begging."

I frowned the way he used to when he said it, and Naomi laughed. She began another of his complaints, one I knew well enough to finish for her. By then I was leaning over the table, laughing too hard to do his voice properly. He'd made such a fuss about me wearing the thing, then worn it to dinner himself.

I looked at the sweater in her hands. I'd never hear him say any of it again. My laughter stopped, and I could hear the wind coming under the shutter.

"Nobody's going to scold me like that anymore."

Naomi reached toward my back, then hesitated. I wiped my eyes with my palm. I wanted her to stay, but I couldn't bear to keep looking at the sweater.

"Put it away. Don't let anyone here see it."

She began folding it, then stopped with one sleeve in her hand.

"What?"

"I've folded it crooked."

She shook it out and tried again. It looked the same to me. I almost asked what was wrong, but my face was still wet and I didn't want to start crying again. I let her put it away.

Edward came before midday. I'd washed my face and put on a clean coat. I opened the door before he'd finished knocking and stood in the doorway. Behind me, Naomi went into the next room and shut the door.

He stayed outside without reaching for the door. I caught the scent of pine, cold air and horse, and some of the tension left my shoulders. I wished I could have made myself relax as easily while I was alone.

I pointed to the table. "Who said you could put that in my room?"

He looked at the brooch. "I did. I should have asked. You don't have to wear it."

I went back to unpin it, then returned and dropped it into his palm. His fingers closed over it without his looking down.

"Can the betrothal be broken?"

"No."

"So my people get to go home if I marry you."

He was quiet for a moment. "That's the condition of the agreement."

I wanted him to sound ashamed of it. He stood there waiting, and I had to blink before I could go on. I hated the thought of crying in front of him, though for a moment I wanted to do it just to see how he'd manage with me sobbing all over his boots.

"Then I have conditions too. I live apart from you. My own rooms, with a door I can lock. I keep the key."

"You can keep these rooms. I'll have the passage to mine closed off today."

"And nobody asks me when the marking happens. Not your servants, your brother or your father."

"I'll tell the household. If my family brings it up, refer them to me."

"Tell them before they ask."

"I will."

I glanced back at the cupboard. "And nobody moves, packs, cleans or gives away any of my things without asking. Not even a comb."

"I'll make sure the servants know."

He hadn't argued with any of it. I tried to think whether there was something I'd forgotten, but all I could see was the brooch still in his hand. When I said nothing more, he nodded and turned away. He hadn't crossed the threshold.

A few paces down the corridor, he looked back. I was still standing in the doorway. Before I could decide whether to say anything, he went on.

"Annoying," I said aloud, and closed the door quietly.

That afternoon, two men fitted a door across the passage between our rooms, with the bolt on my side. I slid it back and forth twice to check it didn't catch.

"That's fine," I told them, and they took their tools away.

Naomi was putting my things into the cupboard. "You really do mean to live apart from him."

"I'm not afraid of him."

I went back and slid the bolt into place. I didn't know whether I was afraid of him. He hadn't tried to come in, but I wanted to be sure I could keep him out, even if he changed his mind.

The room was growing dim. "Will you light the lamp?"

Near evening, a boy brought a sealed paper and waited while I opened it by the window. There were eleven names in a clerk's small, even handwriting, all of them Redcliff. I recognized the tanner with the bad hip and the miller's two girls. The woman who'd run our kitchen was there too. She used to slap my hand away when I tried to steal honey.

I read the list three times. I wanted to ask how they were, whether the tanner could walk and whether the girls were together. Beneath the names was a single line: These are the first you will see.

There was still no date. I looked through the names again anyway, relieved to recognize people I might soon be able to speak to. Perhaps the woman from our kitchen could tell me who else was safe.

Naomi came up behind me and read over my shoulder. When she reached the bottom, her eyes went back to the beginning. None of her family was on the list. I looked again to be certain before I turned toward her.

"They'll be on the next one," she said, and went back to the cupboard.

I didn't know what to say to her. I sent the boy away without an answer, folded the paper along its creases and took out Father's sweater. I tucked the list between its folds, then put it back beneath the rest of my clothes at the bottom of the cupboard.